


Atoms in the Chaos

by janescott



Series: Atoms in the Chaos [1]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Avengers - Freeform, Avengers Tower, M/M, Romance, friendship to romance, science bros to science bfs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2012-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 02:01:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janescott/pseuds/janescott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This will (eventually) be science!bfs - I wanted something a little slow-burning (or a lot slow-burning) and then this happened. Er, the aim is for this to be two parts. Bruce has more feels than I thought he would /o\. So this part is mostly ... feels and things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Atoms in the Chaos

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by magenta as always <3
> 
> The characters in this story are the property of Marvel. I'm just building castles in the sand. :-)

“You sure?” Tony turns to glance at Bruce as he puts his foot down, resettling in his seat.

“Because I can turn this baby right around, take you to Stark Tower, give you the full tour …”

Bruce is shaking his head, rubbing a hand over his face.

“No. I mean - I appreciate the offer Tony, I really do, but I need to - “ Bruce sighs and pushes a hand through his hair, which is going every which way in the wind created by the open top on the car.

“I need to … know that I’m free to go,” he says finally. It’s not exactly what he means, but it’s close enough and he just hopes it’s enough for Tony to stop pushing.

Tony glances at him again before turning his attention back to the road.

“Fine, big guy. Any time you want to change your mind, the door of Stark Industries is open, okay? And if you need anything, _anything_ , you call me.”

Bruce manages a smile - a rare, wry twist of his mouth that feels foreign and strange.

“Oh, I’m sure that SHIELD will be able to tell you if I need anything.”

“I thought they weren’t going to be tracking you for a while.”

Bruce waits as Tony zips into the airport car park, every move a study in economy and speed.

“Yeah - _for a while_. But - do you really think they’re going to let me loose on the world again without keeping tabs? I wouldn’t.”

Tony frowns as he parks and Bruce sighs, sagging back in the seat.

Now that it’s all over, now that the world has been saved from - from _alien invasion_ and there’s something about that that still makes Bruce want to laugh hysterically - he’s … tired. His feet itch and his fight or flight instinct is roaring through his blood.

“Bruce …”

“Let it go, Tony. Please? Look - you can just - leave me here, I’ll be fine. I’ve got everything I need right here.” He hefts the bag Natasha gave him and brandishes it like - well, like a shield.

Tony drums his fingers on the steering wheel and makes a small sound that’s nearly a laugh, but mostly not.

“I’m not going to win this one, am I? Dammit, I hate to lose.” Tony turns in his seat then, giving Bruce the full blast of his oh-so-charming, patented Tony Stark high-wattage grin.

Bruce manages a thin smile in return, still not used to Tony’s singular scrutiny.

“I … I better go. Um. Thanks. For - everything.”

Tony shifts in his seat, like he’s about to say something else, marshal a whole new argument that will make Bruce change his mind. He sighs heavily instead, smoothing his hands over the steering wheel.

“Okay, big guy. But - I meant what I said. You need _anything_ …”

Bruce smiles as he wrangles himself and his bag out of the seat. He stands awkwardly by the car for a moment. He feels like Tony - especially Tony - deserves more from him than just a faint wave and a retreating form.

“I - um. Sure, Tony. Thanks again.”

It’s horrible and awkward and nothing like Bruce wants to say to Tony. He wants to thank Tony for treating him like a human being from the start. For not being … wary around him at all. For … _revelling_ in Bruce being there.

It was heady and it’s always dangerous because these kind of thoughts lead to connections that Bruce can’t afford. Even now.

Especially now.

So he raises his hand in a half-wave, turns around, and disappears into the terminal.

Three months later

Tony had never really had room-mates. Oh, sure, college but that didn’t count because he was hardly ever there; never stood still enough to forge those kinds of connections.

Now, somehow, he’s acquired three. Four, if you count Thor dropping in unannounced.

 

The first of them to move in had been Clint, about a month after the invasion.

He’d shown up at Stark Tower with a battered duffel bag and the most haunted eyes Tony’s ever seen.

“Just … for a few days. My, uh, apartment is, um. Gone.”

Clint rubs at his eyes and he’s clearly exhausted. Tony just grins at him, says “Well, my home is your home, and all that crap. Top ten floors are R&D, so not fit for living. Other than that, take your pick.”

He brings up a floor plan of the tower and Clint stares at the holographic images, his face blank apart from his eyes, which look haunted and shadowed, and Tony finds it difficult to meet Clint’s gaze.

“Uh … a couch, anywhere will do. It’s just till I find somewhere else.”

Tony makes a sweeping gesture and the images disappear.

“Walk this way, Barton. I can do better than a couch.”

The tower is still in a state of reconstruction but there are floors that were undamaged by the tender ministrations of Loki, the Hulk, the Chitauri … all in all Tony knows he got off pretty lightly.

He guides Clint to an unoccupied floor. “It’s furnished in early guest room,” he explains, opening a door on a bland room, furnished with a basic couch, coffee table and large-screen TV taking up most of one wall. “But there’s a kitchen, a living room of sorts, a bedroom … stay as long as you like.”

Barton just nods, his eyes darting around the rooms, studying everything. Tony points to a large, floor-to-ceiling window, split with french doors. “There’s even a balcony, Robin Hood. You can gaze down upon the masses as much as you like.”

For the first time since Barton had arrived at the tower, Tony sees a slight smile twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Thanks, Stark.”

“Sure. You want company for dinner, come down and join us – if not, well, the fridge isn’t stocked but JARVIS can order whatever you want.”

Barton nods, swaying on his feet a little. “Thanks. I think I’m just going to crash for a while. I haven’t been sleeping much.”

Tony pats him on his back and wanders back to his lab, his mind already working five equations ahead.

He realises a few days later, when Natasha shows up with an identical duffel to Barton’s, that he’s been expecting her.

He hasn’t seen much of Barton the past few days - occasionally passing him in the kitchen, sometimes coming across him curled into himself on the sofa - but other than that, Barton seems happy to keep to himself, and Tony’s happy to let him.

Frankly, if he’d known having a room-mate would be this easy, he would have done it years ago.

“No, you wouldn’t have,” Pepper says, her mouth twisting up into the amused smirk that makes Tony want to kiss her every time. They’re in the back of his car, on their way to their god-knows-how-many save Manhattan benefits and so he gives into his impulse and kisses the corner of her mouth.

“You _like_ living alone,” she says, crossing her ankles. She’s wearing something short, black and stylish and she looks like a million bucks.

“It kind of is like living alone,” he says, twining their fingers together. “I hardly see either of them. Either Barton’s out on his little balcony, or they’re holed up in his apartment doing … I’m not sure I want to think about what they’re doing.”

Pepper laughs softly at that, shaking her head. “For all you know they’re … I don’t know, knitting scarves for underprivileged children, or - “

“Or running a dope operation out of Barton’s apartment or -”

“ _Tony!_ They’re probably just … grieving.” Pepper’s voice goes quiet and soft, and Tony can’t think of anything to say to that, so he just curls his fingers around Pepper’s and they ride the rest of the way to the benefit in silence.

Thor appears out of nowhere one day in typically dramatic fashion, landing neatly on Clint’s balcony, startling him so much that the only thing that stops him toppling over the edge are Thor’s quick reflexes.

Tony grins to himself as Thor’s booming voice echoes through the tower.

 

Natasha is curled up on the sofa in the living room, reading something large and Russian, and Tony’s come up from his lab for … something. He frowns until his stomach rumbles. Right. Food.

Thor slaps him on the back and Tony stumbles a bit under the friendly onslaught.

“I apologies, friend Tony, for dropping in unannounced. But I found I missed my Midgardian companions. I thought perhaps we could all break bread together.”

Thor pats Clint on the back then, before striding over to the couch and lifting Natasha in a short, bone-crushing hugs before depositing her back on the sofa.

“And by break bread you mean …”

“I mean eat! Drink! Make merry!”

“You mean get very, very, very drunk.”

With impeccable timing, JARVIS announces that Captain Rogers has arrived at the tower.

Of course.

“Perfect!” Thor throws his arms wide. “Now all we need is the good doctor! I assume he is in your laboratory?”

Tony rubs at his eyes as Steve enters - and what is it with these people and battered duffel bags?

He makes a welcoming gesture with his arm and Steve moves to the centre of the room.

“Be with you in a minute, Cap. No, Thor … Bruce isn’t here. He … uh …”

“He left, after you did,” Natasha answers.

“We don’t know where he is.”

“You’re not tracking him?” Steve drops his bag on the floor and flashes a glance at Tony. “Um, I should explain what I’m doing here …”

Tony waves a hand, dismissing any explanations as he heads for the bar and digs for a bottle of scotch. He lines up five glasses and starts pouring, indicating to Natasha that she should go on with her explanation.

“No, we’re not tracking him. Not for now, anyway. We promised him he’d be free to go … after. He has a phone that we gave him. If - or when - he activates it, we’ll know where he is.”

Steve frowns at this as he absently takes the glass Tony hands him.

Natasha meets Steve’s gaze easily and says, “It was what Dr Banner wanted.”

“So if he needs help, he can get it by switching on his phone,” Steve says, taking a sip of the drink.

Tony hands around the rest of the glasses and lets out a quiet breath. He doesn’t want to go all Iron Man on Cap’s ass but he will if he has to, truce or not.

Steve grins at him and tips the glass. “Thought I was going to say something else, didn’t you?”

Tony opens his mouth to reply but he’s interrupted by Thor.

“A toast! We must have a toast! To our comrades! To … our fallen comrades.” His voice is quiet suddenly and he stares down into his glass like he wonders where it came from.

Everyone stands around in a loose circle and Tony feels like he can see the gap where Bruce should be standing; even the one where Coulson should be and he feels something twist and loosen inside his chest.

He just hopes it’s not a piece of that bastard shrapnel.

He raises his glass and waits for the others to follow suit.

“To … absent friends,” he says finally, listening to the words echo around the circle, before he takes a healthy slug of his drink.

If he’s going to get maudlin, he’s also going to get very, very drunk.

Steve tilts his glass and frowns again, like the booze has insulted his mother.

“You okay there, Cap?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah. I just... you know I can’t get drunk.”

Tony shrugs and reaches back to the bar for the bottle.

“I’m aware. Doesn’t mean you can’t join us.”

Steve sighs and hands out his glass for another shot.

“It’s going to get messy, isn’t it?”

“Only if we do it right, Cap. Slainte.” Clint tilts his glass towards Steve, knocks back the contents and hands it out, raising an eyebrow.

“Barkeep! Another!”

Tony glances at Natasha, who’s face is bland, but her eyes are on Clint as she holds her own glass out, muttering something in Russian that Tony thinks is “Chtob vse byli zdorovy”, which he’s always found kind of wordy for a toast, but you gotta go with what works for you.

Thor is grinning and despite himself Tony starts to relax.

He has JARVIS order too much food, tells Steve to pick a movie, and settles in to do a spot of liver damage.

Slainte, he thinks vaguely as he settles in to watch Some Like it Hot.

He’s seen it hundreds of times - it’s one of Pepper’s favourite movies - but watching Thor and Steve’s reaction to the story is almost as entertaining as Ms Monroe shimmying up on the big screen and it’s not long before they’re all laughing too hard and temporarily dispelling some ghosts.

By unspoken agreement, Thor picks the next movie, and chooses Star Wars from the menu. He’s entranced by the battle across the stars and Tony proceeds to get very quietly - and very thoroughly - drunk.

He tips his glass at Cap and offers a half-smile.

“Welcome to the Tower.”

The break-up with Pepper is a shock to his system. Especially since he’s the one who initiates it. He doesn’t _mean_ to, things have been going … good.

Not _great_ , like they had before, but … good. Good enough, and that’s really not good enough - not for Pepper.

Not for himself, either, come to that.

It’s a slow-burning kind of realisation and as Tony stumbles through the actual words at dinner one night when Nat and Clint have dragged Steve and Thor out to wreak non-permanent damage of the city, he wonders if Pepper’s just been waiting for him.

“How long have you known?” he asks, suddenly, interrupting his own ramble. “I know you better than anyone and you’re looking at me like - “ he stops himself and flings his hands wide.

Pepper twists the stem of her wine glass and looks into the depths of the dark liquid. “I don’t know. A while, I think. It’s just, we’ve both been so busy, and I’ve barely had time to _think_ let alone, you know, deal with, with feelings and I just - a while,” she finishes quietly, winding down.

“God. We’re so stupid.” she says, her eyes shining bright with unshed tears. “I mean, I love you but - “

“Yeah, but …” Tony sighs and pushes his uneaten food around on his plate until he feels like he can look Pepper in the eye.

“We deserve something great,” he says. “We both do, and somehow, in all this mess, we stopped being great, you know?”

Pepper nods and stares out at the night, her chin propped on her hand.

“I don’t want us to lose … _us_ , but if we stay stuck like this, then there is no us, is there? We’re just -”

“Atoms in the chaos,” Tony says, quietly, reaching for Pepper’s other hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. She turns her head and smiles at him, the warm Pepper-smile that always turns his heart over. She turns her hand and links their fingers together.

 

“Yeah.”

And that’s it. It ends - like Eliot says - with a whimper rather than a bang.

Pepper kisses him on the cheek and says “I won’t be around for a while, okay? I need some time. I’ll … email you about the business, have JARVIS ping you so you know there’s messages, I know what you’re like with your email, Tony …”

He can hear the tears caught in her throat and knows it’s time to let her go.

“Sure, Pepper. Sounds, uh, good. I’m … I’m sorry.”

He stands up and they embrace quietly, enjoying each other for a moment.

“Don’t. We’d end up resenting each other sooner or later, and get stuck in a loop of bitterness and fights - I’d rather it be now. While we’re still - friends.”

It feels like a small, inadequate word, but Tony knows Pepper means it. She’ll take the time she needs, and one day she’ll stroll back into the Tower as beautiful and efficient and kick-ass as ever.

“We’ll be okay,” she whispers in his ear, and then - she’s gone.

She’s right, he knows she’s right, but in the meantime, until he feels better about the whole thing … he works.

There’s a lot to be done, the city is still a mess, and Tony can _help_ with more than just money, so that’s what he does. He buries the hurt and the what-ifs under a pile of machinery and noise and loud music.

Occasionally Steve, or Clint will drag him out to feed and water him as Barton puts it but it’s never long before Tony is buried under the work again, pretending not to see the worried looks and hear the muttered conversations.

It’s nice, in a way, to have people around who care about him enough to bring him coffee or shove him into a shower once in a while, but at the same time, he just wants everyone to _fuck off_ thank you very much, he’s _working_.

And then he wakes up one morning - in his bed, for once, not slumped over a lab worktable - and he feels … better. Not perfect, not great, not quite _there_ yet, but better.

“Huh.” Tony rolls on to his back and stares at the ceiling for a moment, letting the feeling drift as he dozes and revels - briefly - in doing nothing.

He lasts about a minute before he says “JARVIS?”

“Mister Stark.”

“Where’s the rest of the Mickey Mouse club?”

“If you are referring to Captain Rogers and agents Barton and Romanoff, they are in the kitchen.”

“Is this one of those … Cap … things.” Tony waves a hand vaguely, something knocking at the back of his head - something about Steve talking about daily meetings/bonding sessions/torture events …

“Yes, sir. It’s very informal. Agent Barton started a food-fight yesterday morning.”

“All right, JARVIS. I’ll have a shower and uh … be down soon. Wouldn’t want to miss the _whole_ party.”

“Yes sir.”

Tony’s not at his best in the mornings but fuck it, he’s Iron Man sometimes. He squares his shoulders, grits his teeth and pushes his way into the kitchen, expecting … well, he’s not sure what he’s expecting.

But this warm camaraderie - Clint has one foot propped up on Natasha’s chair, while she scours the world section of the New York Times - the _paper_ edition, which slightly offends Tony’s tech-loving heart - and Cap is …

“Are you actually making _pancakes?_ Because you know, we can get married in New York now. And I will totally marry you for your pancakes.”

Steve flips the batter in the pan easily, before setting it back on the stove. He turns to Tony and raises an eyebrow.

“I’m flattered, Stark, but you’re not my type.”

“But. Pancakes,” Tony says, his mouth watering.

“Uh … you can have some anyway. Coffee?”

Tony rubs his hand through his hair and shakes his head before dragging out a chair and sitting down.

“Please. Black. How can you do that to me?”

He points at the offending newspaper, spread out all over his table, but Natasha just raises her eyebrows and turns the page.

“I like it,” is all she says, as Steve puts a plate of pancakes and a cup of coffee in front of him.

“Eat, drink,” he says, sounding amused. “You’ll feel better.”

Tony mutters something before glaring at the newspaper again on general principal.

“So,” he says when he surfaces a few minutes later, his mouth sticky-sweet with the taste of pancakes and syrup. “What’s been happening with the Mouseketeers while I’ve been slaving away in the lab? Saved the world without me?”

“Mouseketeers?” Steve sits across from him, his own plate piled high as he tries to stay ahead of his speeding metabolism.

“TV show from the uh … 1950s, originally. Wholesome Disney entertainment. Clean-cut kids. shiny smiles …”

“Slightly creepy,” Natasha supplies, not looking up from frowning at the crossword. Her gaze is so intent that Tony half-expects the paper to catch fire.

“JARVIS can run a search for you, Cap. Can pretty much answer any question you have about the wonders of the modern world.”

“Oh - right. I mean, yeah, I know that, I just … feel weird talking to … the air.”

“You get used to it,” Clint says, reaching for his own coffee.

“So - are all the Mouseketeer meetings like this?” Tony reaches for his own coffee and sweet _Jesus_ that’s good.

“No,” Nat says, writing something in the tiny clue-space. “Sometimes we talk about _really_ trivial things.”

Tony swallows carefully to avoid choking on his coffee, and just like that - all at once - he wishes Bruce were here.

He’s getting old, or tired. Or both. He stands up, refills the mug and says, “Well, if any aliens land on the roof of the tower, or if an enormous green rage monster happens to come crashing through … you know where to find me.”

Part two

Bruce is about halfway through the terminal when he thinks, “This is is a mistake. I should go back, go to Stark Tower …”

Instead, he hands his fake passport over and says something inane to the girl behind the counter when she tells him to have a safe flight. He hesitates briefly because this is the moment, he could turn around, hail a cab, go to the tower …. he reaches out instead, takes the ticket and resettles his bag in his hand, clutching the handle.

He crosses the rest of the terminal, finds his gate, boards the plane, stores his bag, takes his seat. Bruce wipes his hands on his pants and stares out the window, waiting for the plane to take off.

He could still go back.

Get off the plane. Get a cab … he shakes his head to break the loop. No. No going back. SHIELD - for whatever reason - let him go, and as alluring as Tony’s offer was - is - Bruce knows that lingering in New York would be a mistake. He needs to get far away, as fast as he can.

He takes deep breaths until the plane starts taxing down the runway and lifts into the skies, taking him away, out into the world - where he can make a true difference, and try and rebalance some of the bad he’s let into the world by letting the other guy loose in it.

Bruce travels until he feels … not safe not exactly. Until he feels … okay. As okay as he ever feels with the constant rumble of anger in his veins like blood, like a drug.

He pushes to the very edges of the world, to the people who subsist on its fringes, knowing that he can help them the most, that he can … atone for some of the damage he’s done by devoting himself to easing their suffering.

It’s good work, and it’s important work, and Bruce does his best to immerse himself in it, but there’s a cold space in his heart - his mind - that he finally recognises as regret.

He sleeps badly, and keeps the beast at bay with a cold, calculating stew of anger, regret and a desire to effect some kind of reparation. It’s an uneasy balance at the best of times, but he is - he had - been getting better at walking the tightrope.

Now - after everything - it feels like the tightrope is unravelling and his control is slipping a little bit day by day. He looks at the children he’s treating and he wonders - what would happen to them if his control unravels. How much longer will it be before a thread snaps?

At night, Bruce takes out the silent, black cellphone that SHIELD had given him, and he turns it over and over in his hand.

Freedom.

Helping people.

Reparation.

New York.

SHIELD.

Tony.

Every night, he slides his thumb over the power button, waiting to see whether he’ll press it or not.

Every night he puts it away, as silent as the night before, and he goes out again before the sun, waging an already lost war against poverty and death.

Freedom.

Helping people.

Reparation.

New York.

SHIELD.

Tony.

Bruce misses Tony. He’s been used to not making friends; not making any kinds of connections, because connections are dangerous when your life is shaped around running. But Tony had just … blasted through all of that.

Ignored it, even, almost insisting that Bruce celebrate what - who - he was. Rage monster and all.

Bruce turns the cellphone over again and pushes one hand through his hair.

The question is … the question is - where can he do the most good? Here on the fringes? Battling to save one life at a time? Or - back in the citadels of New York, where one check from Tony Stark can make all of these people’s lives better?

What does Bruce need more? Redemption or validation?

He slides his thumb over the power button again, takes a deep breath, and pushes.

Validation, redemption, freedom. They’re all part of the circle, or maybe they’re all part of the same trap. Bruce is honest enough with himself to acknowledge he doesn’t know any more. And maybe - maybe it doesn’t matter.

He’d run away from the others - from Tony - to prove that he could. To prove to himself that he really did have freedom. But, as the wise woman once said, freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose, and here - on the very edge of the world - Bruce truly has nothing left to lose. Nothing to gain, either, maybe, but he doesn’t know that yet.

He presses the power button, and he waits.

Bruce doesn’t remember lying down, closing his eyes, but suddenly he’s being woken up by someone saying: “Call for a cab?”

He blinks his eyes and rubs at them as he sits up, groping for his glasses as the figure in the doorway coalesces into Clint.

“Uh … yeah. Sorry, I uh, fell asleep I guess.”

Clint glances out the door, saying something to someone Bruce can’t see.

“That’s fine, Doc. Hate to hurry you, but the sooner we get out of here the better, you know?”

Bruce nods as he pushes himself up from the narrow cot. He picks up his bag - the same one Natasha had given him, though it’s far more battered now - shoves the phone into it and looks around the room.

“I’m good. Let’s … go.”

Clint nods and they head out to a jeep, that takes them to a small airstrip and a deceptively small plane that Bruce knows is packed to the rafters with all kinds of speed-making technology.

“Where’re we heading Doc?” Clint asks as he settles in the pilot’s seat and indicates for Bruce to take one of the seats just behind. Bruce sits and automatically reaches for the seatbelt.

“Uh … Stark Tower?”

Clint nods and lays in the flight plan. Before long, they’re taxing down the small runway, and taking off.

Validation. Redemption. Freedom.

All part of the same circle, or all part of the same trap. As the plane banks and levels out, Bruce wonders whether it even matters any more. He settles back into his seat, and tries to bank down the strange feeling that he’s going home.

He’s … going to see a friend.

That’s all.


End file.
